


Was. As in, past tense.

by Arvanna34



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, Lucifer Feels, Oral Sex, Romance, Shower Sex, Smut, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28713963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvanna34/pseuds/Arvanna34
Summary: The first change happens about a couple of weeks after their first night together, and it’s a bit surprising considering it comes from him.A collection of changes that occur in Lucifer (mainly) and Chloe's lives.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 34
Kudos: 183





	Was. As in, past tense.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was inspired by my dear friend Bo. I am still working on the Senses series, which won't be updated for a while yet as I am trying to figure out the last two parts. 
> 
> For the sake of this one-shot:  
> \- takes place after 5x05 and any events after this episode that occur on the show do not occur here  
> \- Lucifer does not have a conversation with Jed
> 
> Deckerstar is established, Trixie knows, all that jazz.
> 
> There is smut here. I don't really know how that happened since writing smut isn't my strong suit and not something I do, but considering this is Deckerstar we're talking about it found its way into the story. This is dedicated to my Twitter gc girls, who have helped keep me sane throughout the last handful of months. Ladies, I love you all. 
> 
> The usual disclaimer: I don't own Lucifer or the characters. Deckerstar owns my heart. They are incredible freakin' soulmates. 
> 
> Side note: there are a lot of dashes, italics, and parentheses used here. Some dialogue but not a lot. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

The first change happens about a couple of weeks after their first night together, and it’s a bit surprising considering it comes from _him_.

It’s late one Saturday night and they’re both off from work. It’s the first time in a while they are alone, so they savour the moment. They’re lying on her couch, legs entangled, with some Dad-awful show on the television that is muted because it doesn’t hold their attention. Two glasses of wine rest on the side table, and the fireplace emits a soothing warmth. The Detective is curled into his side, her head on his shoulder. His left arm is wrapped around her, his large hand splayed out on her waist. Their right hands are fused together, and every so often he gives hers a little squeeze.

He slightly turns his neck and presses his lips to her forehead, venturing a question that has been on his mind for a while. “So, what are we?”

She looks at him inquisitively. “Other than incredible?”

“That too,” he chuckles, smiling at their favourite word. “We’re us, after all. But…does _this_ have a definition?”

When he says “this” he motions between them. She now knows what he is trying to get at, and she understands why he is having a bit of difficulty expressing himself. He has never been overly skilled at voicing his thoughts, much preferring to sing rather than actually speak, though he has improved in that department over the last little while.

She poses her own question, gently encouraging him to open up to her. “Well, what do you want this to be?”

He bites his lower lip, initially uncertain as to how to proceed, then fights through the nerves and goes for it. “I want to be more than just work partners. I believe you humans refer to it as ‘becoming official’.”

He doesn’t do change; it isn’t exactly one of his strong suits. So when these words leave his lips she is initially taken aback and falls silent for a moment.

It’s evidently too long of a pause, because a worried look crosses his face. “Detective? Are you okay?”

She blinks at the sound of his voice, which brings her back to reality. “Just so we’re on the same page here, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He surprises even himself by igniting this particular conversation. When Eve mentioned the b-word he panicked and ran to the Doctor. That situation just didn't feel right, and he now knows why: as sweet as Eve was, she was not the Detective. “I would like that very much, if it’s okay with you.”

She sits up so they are face-to-face, releases her hold on his hand, runs her fingertips along the scratchy stubble of his beard, and kisses him. His hands immediately rise up to cup her cheeks, and he hums peacefully as her unique taste fills his mouth.

They break apart and she leans in to him so their foreheads touch, her palms now flat on his chest. She can’t hide the note of amusement in her voice. “Of course I’m okay with that, my loveable idiot of a boyfriend. Wait until we tell Ella. She’s been pining for us since she joined the team. I bet she’ll give us one of her famous hugs.”

He laughs and spots a lock of hair that has fallen in front of her eyes, so he tucks it behind her ear. “Good. It’s settled then. As much as I enjoy Ms. Lopez’s bone-crushing hugs, right now what I’d love even more is to take my girlfriend to bed and ravish her like the Queen she is.”

She squeals with delight as he effortlessly picks her up, hooking one arm underneath her knees and supporting her back with the other, and she manages to get in the words “I’ll never say no to that” before his mouth latches onto hers. Their lips do not separate the entire way upstairs.

* * *

Following that evening, the changes start occurring more often.

It’s close to midnight, and it's been an exhausting few days of leads and interrogations in a murder case. While they are preparing for some much-needed sleep, she opens a drawer in his bedroom and pulls out a pair of pajamas. This time it’s a set; a dark blue sleeveless top with an owl on it and the words “Up Owl Night” underneath along with matching pants. He clearly misses seeing her put them in the drawer in the first place, but he’s not complaining. She wore it a few weekends ago, and at one point when she stretched he caught a glimpse of the way the pants hugged her hips and his blood rushed to a certain area.

She still often wears his shirt, which is huge on her but bloody hell it makes him incredibly aroused, and he has to restrain himself from ripping it off of her (though that attempt is an epic fail more often than not). Other times she throws on an old tattered shirt and blue tartan pants. Not that he particularly cares what pyjamas she wears, because she's gorgeous no matter what she has on (or not on). But it’s the fact that she has an outfit in one of his drawers that catches his attention, as if she had casually put them there.

A few days later, as they are getting ready to head to the precinct, he spots something peculiar. The little side tables beside his bed are normally bare save the spherical lamps, but the one closest to him has items on it such as lipstick, earrings, and a small unlit candle. On another day, he sees her folded pajamas on the pillow. There's the time he opens up his closet to search for a dress shirt until his arm stops in mid-air, dark brown eyes falling on a curious sight. Mingled with his outfits are her shirts and pants, along with a handful of dresses. Her various shoes – he lost count long ago on just how many pairs she owns – are paired neatly together on the floor.

All of this occurs within the span of roughly a week.

Wait, how did she sneak her clothes and shoes into his closet? And when exactly did she bring her pajamas over from her place?

Oddly enough, he quite likes this change. 

* * *

Then there is the bathroom. The usual guy things can be found in here: aftershave, cologne, an electric razor, what have you. He keeps it impeccably clean, with not a smidgen of dirt or grime to be seen anywhere. It’s still that way, but the gigantic white marble vanity isn’t as bare. Several half-used bottles of perfume – she seems to bounce around between different scents - are stored neatly in one corner alongside some makeup (he insists she doesn’t need to wear such nonsense because she is naturally gorgeous, a compliment that always makes her cheeks flush with red) and a hair brush. Two matching pictures of seashells hang on one of the walls. She says they remind her of their first kiss on the beach. Maybe one day he’ll tell her he loves them, but for now he rather enjoys playfully teasing her.

His showers were once lonely, isolating almost. He’d be in and out fairly quick, and while he had indulged in shower sex every so often it was nothing special. Now he looks forward to the mornings and nights when they stand under the huge rain head shower, savouring the intimate contact as they bathe each other. Coconut is her favourite scent (aside from his own unique blend, as she so often reminds him) and he doesn’t hesitate to reach for the body wash, telling her while he squirts a generous amount in his palm how the smell used to sting his nostrils and make him gag but now it’s intoxicating and reminds him of her. As he puts the body wash back on the massive seat located at the rear of the shower, he mentally acknowledges how there used to be only one or two bottles but now there are multiple, including a face scrub and coconut shampoo. He may have a bit of a kink for that smell but he asks her not to breathe a word of it to anyone. The Devil has a reputation to uphold, after all.

He takes his time, pupils blown wide as he uses his ridiculously talented hands to massage the liquid into her soft skin. He teases her with his touch, purposely skipping her chest and below her navel. He knows it drives her wild, and the moans that escape her lips make his hips involuntarily thrust towards her. He loves kissing her pulse point directly underneath her well-defined jaw, fully aware of what it does to her. She returns the favour by “accidentally” forgetting to wash his groin but makes up for it by kissing his toned abdomen, relishing how his muscles twitch under her lips. They run their fingers along each other’s bodies that are dripping from both water and arousal. Finally, being the gentleman that he is, he decides he’s made her suffer long enough and his hand travels to her southern regions. Sometimes she pushes it away, reminding him that she wants to take care of him as well, and when she says that he obliges – but not always. On those days he pretends he doesn’t hear her, muttering some ridiculous excuse such as the water being too loud, and slides his fingers along her slit. Simultaneously his other hand gently clamps down on one of her breasts, and his thumb briefly flicks over the erect nipple before moving to the other side. He covers her mouth with his, lightly biting at her lower lip because he knows she loves it. They ignore the water cascading down onto them from above, and he focuses on teasing her yet again. Just as she is about to fall over into the abyss he abruptly halts his movement, removing his slick fingers from her equally wet folds. She whimpers at the loss of contact but he quickly remedies that by slowly pushing two fingers inside her core. Him doing the “come hither” motion is her undoing, but he is right there to guide her through it.

The times when he does listen to her, he hands over the reins but can’t help grabbing onto her golden hair as her head bobs back and forth. He has eons of experience in both giving and receiving oral, but the Detective is skilled. _Very_ skilled. He tells her this, as he is aware it makes her proud – and rightly so. Oral sex had never really been her forte before him, but something about watching the literal Devil come undone thanks to her always causes a smug grin to spread across her talented lips.

The shower used to be rather uneventful for both of them, but like many other things in their lives that has now changed. Now there’s hardly a time when it isn’t. Sometimes she questions him about the water bill, although she knows it is kind of pointless considering he has an insane amount of money. When she does ask him – which is usually while they are seeking release in said shower – he raises an eyebrow, jokingly inquiring if she no longer wants to participate in “extracurricular activities” under the water. He already knows her reply but asks anyways because he also knows how she will answer him.

 _Smug bastard_ , she thinks to herself, not missing the shit-eating grin he has plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

Her reply is always the same. After he empties himself into her mouth she swallows, stands up, gently grabs his still-erect member, and starts to carefully walk backwards. The days of him using the seat for other activities with multiple partners are long gone, for it is now only reserved for one person aside from him. When they are nearly at the seat she turns them around, not releasing her hold on him, and gives him a little push on the chest so he sits down. She climbs on top of him and straddles his waist, her free hand holding onto his shoulder for balance. Okay so maybe it isn’t the most comfortable of positions for them both, but they make it work and quickly forget about the awkwardness when she lines him up with her soaked entrance and effortlessly slides down onto him.

* * *

It was a well-known fact that he loved sex. He had never even attempted to keep track of just how many humans he had slept with. Initially he just wanted to get in the Detective’s pants, and she thought she’d be another notch in his bedpost. When he first asked her what she desired, she looked at him like he was insane (and she believed he was, because who the hell is named Lucifer Morningstar?). This piqued his curiosity, and he wanted to know why the hell she was immune to his mojo. Normally humans quivered under his hypnotic-like gaze and spilled their darkest secrets, but not her. As he got to know her, his desire to sleep with her slowly waned and that was a change he never thought he would experience, but he also had to deal with a hefty blow to his inflated ego: she showed zero interest in getting under the covers. What woman had to be crazy to not have sex with _him_? She was a mystery and one he wished to solve.

Sex is a different kind of euphoria now, though they no longer view it as just sex. He had used the term after their first night together, but since then they’ve realized it goes far beyond that. What happened before they met was sex, and apparently it meant nothing to his former lovers as he had found out during a case when they had to interrogate Dad knows how many people who said they had been with him.

One night in bed she asks him if he misses his playboy lifestyle. He has always been honest with her, so he says that while he does not regret his past he also does not miss it and he feels that, in a way, it led him to her.

It is different for her as well. During their first few times she is a little self-conscious, as not many men have called her beautiful and she still bears the lines, albeit faint, from when she birthed her daughter. He tells her she is gorgeous inside and out, then kisses the spot on her shoulder where she was shot all those years ago. It is barely noticeable now, with only a vague trace of a scar to be seen, but he knows it is there. While he hates how it reminds himself that he failed to protect her, what he hates about it even more is that he almost lost her that day.

The walls they had spent years – or in his case, millennia – constructing around themselves crumble to dust, and they worship each other as if he is her salvation and vice versa. In this moment, their vulnerability is once again exposed and lingers in the air. As they move in unison, he asks her to say his name.

She obliges, and it comes out in a whisper. “Lucifer.”

“Say it again,” this time it sounds like he is almost pleading with her. This isn’t entirely new to him, for he would almost always ask his previous lovers to breathe his name. But he never begged them to, not like this. He wants to hear it escape her mouth over and over, because hearing _her_ speak his name is his undoing. “Say it so the entire world knows just who you are with right now. Say it so the angels in the Silver City will hear you and they’ll know it’s me who will make you come. _Please_.”

He continuously thrusts into her, their bodies now slick with sweat. She cups his cheeks in her hands and looks directly into his piercing dark eyes. “I’m yours, Lucifer. Always.”

For them, this is not sex.

“ _Lucifer_...” She repeats his name on her own accord, and he moves one of his hands to where their bodies are connected. The pad of his thumb swiftly locates its desired destination and he rubs small circles around the engorged bundle of nerves, applying gentle pressure as he knows she is extremely sensitive at the moment.

She can sense the approaching abyss now, and her muscles clench around him. “Lucifer, I-I'm _close_...”

He increases the speed of his thrusts and, coupled with his thumb working some magic, she falls apart in his arms with a botched version of his name fleeing from her throat. For a second she swears she can see stars dancing around in her vision.

As she comes back down to Earth, she feels him still thrusting into her. Much as her body needs a break right now considering, she shoves that instinct aside and holds onto him. “It’s okay, Lucifer. Let go.”

“Chloe…” He has his eyes closed now but he always speaks her real name during these moments, and the urgency in his voice tells her he is on the verge of his own release.

“I’m here, babe. Let go. I'm not going anywhere.”

“ _Chloe_ …” This one sounds more desperate so she quickly starts to plant open-mouthed kisses along his neck. He isn’t sure if it’s her using that nickname on him, of the fact that she’s holding him securely in her arms. It’s probably a combination of both, but it obviously works as after one or two final pushes he gives a whimper as he shudders and spills himself inside of her.

No one used to make him feel this vulnerable. But as his breathing becomes steadier and his heartbeat slows to its normal pace, she continues to hold him. It’s a reminder that it’s okay for him to give up control, to allow her inside his fortified walls just as she lets him.

Her previous partners had called her by her given name in the bedroom, but the difference here is _how_ he says it. Whether the stubble from his beard is scratching the inside of her thighs, her delicate hands roaming around his magnificent body, or he simply looks at her like she is the one responsible for hanging the stars, he whispers her name as if it is sacred.

And in a way, it is.

 _Chloe_.

He had used terms of endearment before, such as darling, knowing it charmed the ladies. He still does say that particular word, though now it is only directed at her, and he still calls her by her title. She says it’s not necessary even though she secretly likes it, he counters that with it’s out of respect.

But on special occasions he uses her given name. They lay entangled in each other now, serotonin coursing through their veins and skin beginning to cool down. Their foreheads are pressed together, her eyes are closed, and she is using his bicep as a pillow. That arm is bent at the elbow so he can softly thread his fingers through her damp hair, and his other hand is lazily running up and down her side. They are quiet, simply content to just be in each other’s presence.

She must sense he is watching her because her eyelids open. He does this a lot, studies her while she is sleeping or working at her desk. When she asks him one day, he says he is captured by her beauty. In this particular moment, however, she can tell he is thinking something else.

She ventures a question, her voice piercing the veil of silence. “What is it?”

Without hesitation, he speaks the words he is once terrified to even breathe. The words he has been gathering up the courage to say to her. “I love you Chloe.”

Suddenly, he is no longer afraid of those words. She blinks back tears and tells him she knows, that she has always known, and that her insecurities temporarily blinded her from the truth. He says the three words again and thanks her for seeing the real him, for helping him to realize he is not what humanity makes him out to be and that he is a good person, and for making him see that he needed to forgive himself.

She feels his growing arousal against her thigh (he wasn't kidding when he said he had tremendous stamina) just as a flame erupts back to life in her belly, and he rolls her over so she is on her back. As he lowers himself onto her he utters those precious words again and again, savouring how easily they slide off his tongue now and knowing he’ll never grow weary of saying them to her. She repeats the words to him over and over. They both add in “madly” and “incredible”, with the latter holding a very special meaning.

For them, this is not sex.

They make love multiple times that night.

* * *

The sight of a beautiful male or female human would get his engine revving. He never could help himself; he was a playboy, after all, and humans were fascinating creatures.

These days, however, he only has eyes for one specific human.

Her inflamed nose, constant coughing, and the multitude of used tissues strewn everywhere gives away the fact that her body is currently fighting an illness. She claims it’s just a bad cold, but while he is not overly familiar with human ailments even he knows it is more than that – especially when she bolts to the bathroom and he hears her retching. He cautiously walks in and sees her bent over the toilet, hugging the bowl. Being a celestial he can’t get sick, so he kneels down beside her to tell her he's here and starts massaging her shoulders.

She rears back up, wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve, and looks at him apologetically. They are – well, _were_ – supposed to go on a date tonight, but a nasty stomach bug has decided to ruin those plans. Her throat burns, her stomach feels like it’s being ripped to shreds, and tears of pain stream down her face because everything hurts like hell.

Yet he still thinks she is the most beautiful human he has ever laid eyes on. He tells her this, not to try and remedy the situation but because it’s true. She huffs, and as he rubs her back he tells her it doesn’t matter if she is dressed to the nines or wearing tattered clothes because she hasn’t had a chance to do laundry for a week. It doesn’t matter if her hair is pulled back in a perfect bun or it hasn’t been washed in three days because work has been insane and she hasn’t had a chance to breathe let alone shower…she is still breathtakingly gorgeous.

To him, she is always beautiful. 

* * *

He could never fathom the human desire to procreate, mainly because he despises children. He viewed them as disgusting little parasites who do absolutely nothing to contribute towards the bills.

Except that "despised" is probably the more accurate description now.

Granted she doesn’t help with the rent, and he fails to understand her fascination of painting her nails, but there is one child who has managed to wiggle her way into his heart. Or, “she’s got you wrapped around her finger”, as her mother says. He isn’t really sure what that means – humans are funny with their metaphors – but whenever he’s around the child an unusual sense seeps into his veins, similar to the feeling he gets whenever he and the Detective are in each other’s vicinity. It reminds him of that night when the girl and Eve were threatened by two of Tierning’s cronies, when he broke glass with his bare hands and his eyes raged with hellfire. After that incident, standing on the balcony with a drink in hand, he told the grateful Detective he would do anything to protect “that little urchin”. The nickname – which the child finds hilarious – still sometimes makes an appearance, though now he often refers to her by her given name.

* * *

The glass doors opening up to his balcony were once bare, but now they are adorned with the child’s pictures. She is becoming quite the artist and shows an interest in drawing, so for her birthday one year he buys her a sketch book and professional art kit. Sometimes he finds her sitting in one of the chairs outside, observing the many lights and sounds of Los Angeles, and he sees her head pop up for a second or two before lowering again so he knows she is working on a sketch. 

* * *

He always thought birthdays were highly overrated, though he never did say no to a group of hot girls wanting to reserve a booth at LUX to celebrate one’s day of arrival on Earth. The idea of commemorating such a ridiculous – and not to mention messy – milestone baffled him to no end.

On the Detective’s special day he ensures he is up extra early to make her favourite breakfast, because she is his Queen and deserves to be spoiled. He doesn’t waste much time in giving her some of her “gifts”, and after their fifth round even he needs to take a bit of a break.

She loves roses but has always had a soft spot for white daisies, so he secretly phones around until he finds a store he likes and has them deliver flowers to the penthouse. He doesn’t forget to bring her some to the precinct. To ensure the single guys there are well aware she is taken – even though it really isn’t necessary considering everyone knows they are together – he places a very full bouquet of roses and daises on her desk and proceeds to sit in her chair. When she returns from running an errand in another part of the precinct, she is slightly taken back by the sight of both the flowers and him. She spots the card front and centre that says “Lucifer” on it in his writing, and she takes a moment to inhale the flowers’ sweet scent before kissing him, professionalism be damned, and whispering “thank you” in his ear.

* * *

Holidays had always irked him, but he felt that Halloween deserved a special place in Hell (now wasn’t that ironic). The day irritated him to no end, mainly because of humans' silly interpretation of him. He didn’t have horns (bloody things would always get in the way), he wasn’t sure where the idea of him wielding a trident originated from, and he couldn’t wrap his intelligent mind around having a tail.

The urchin’s school is holding a Halloween party and decides to also throw a parade in which the tiny humans can show off their ridiculous costumes. Of course she asks him to come with her. He tries to trick the offspring, even offering her money or chocolate cake so he can somehow get out of this, but to no avail. He finally submits to the clever urchin, saying he will go only if she tells him what she will wear. She refuses to divulge such classified information unless he wears a headband with two plastic horns glued on it.

He scowls at the indignity of it all. The Detective thinks it is hilarious and claps a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. 

He still has no idea what costume the child chose, as being the deceptive little human that she is she doesn’t tell him even after he tries on the headband. The only reason he accepts her offer is because when he does place the horns atop his head, her jaw opens wide and she says he looks “totally awesome”, and the Detective jokingly rolls her eyes at this comment because she knows how much he loves to have his ego stroked (among other things).

The puppy dog eyes the single mothers give him while they are all waiting for the parade to begin are amusing. Back in the day he would have flashed a devastating smile or winked at them, but now he simply ignores the looks because this Devil is taken. He suddenly hears clapping and cheering, and he sees children approaching from down the hall. He spots the urchin almost right away, and as she gets closer he is temporarily rendered speechless.

He doesn’t have time to wonder how the hell she managed to find a two-piece suit sized for her tiny body, because he is stunned to see that she is dressed exactly like him. She has cufflinks on the sleeves of her dress shirt, a black ring on her right hand, and a neatly-folded pocket square. He gets a sneaking suspicious the latter belongs to him because he’s pretty sure he had been looking for that particular piece only a few days prior. As she walks, he catches a glimpse of an authentic-looking police badge hooked onto her dress pants and he blinks, desperately trying to hold back the tears he knows are threatening to spill from his eyes. She quickly steps to the side to wrap her small arms around his neck, plants a kiss on his cheek, whispers "You're the best step-Devil" in his ear, then returns to the line. He touches the spot where she had kissed him and smiles.

He forgets all about the plastic horns still on his head.

* * *

Christmas was just as bad, if not worse. Jesus may have been a stand-up guy, but why did anyone want to commemorate His birth? It was the whole birthday conundrum all over again. The only good thing about the holiday was that he could host parties at LUX, similar to the ones he threw at Halloween, where the dress code was “Sexy Santa” or “Sexy Elf.”

It’s a team effort, decorating such a large tree. Thanks to his six-foot-plus frame and celestial strength he easily lifts the urchin up so she can place a star (the irony is not lost on him) on the top as well as hang some ornaments on the upper tier of the tree. After all the decorations are finished, the trio stand back to admire their work, his arms snaking around the Detective’s hips. The tree is covered in so many ornaments, lights, and tinsel that hardly any green is visible. It is plugged in every evening when they snuggle on the couch, sipping on homemade hot chocolate and iced sugar cookies. 

The Detective makes the mistake of telling him about a mistletoe. He takes complete advantage of this newfound knowledge (of course he does) and finds every opportunity he can to have her stand underneath one. There’s really no place to put a mistletoe above her desk, so instead he hides one in his hand when he walks over to where she is sitting at her computer. He reaches out, trying to hide the mistletoe that is obviously in his hand, and pretends to flick something off her hair. She knows exactly what he’s doing to but feigns surprise when she looks up and sees it dangling from between his index finger and thumb. She fails spectacularly at hiding her smile when she gives him a quick kiss on the lips.

The next time he surprises her with it that same day, it’s a little more…well, not safe for work. Upon returning to the penthouse with some much-needed necessities, she places them on the bar and heads to the bedroom, where she freezes on the top step. He is sitting on the mattress, leaning back on his hands and wearing nothing but a devastating grin because he knows it’s the one that makes her knees tremble and thighs quake. She notices it but catches a glimpse of something green, and her eyes move south to where the mistletoe rests: on the head of his very obvious and very large erection.

She bites her lower lip, unable to tear her eyes away from the delicious sight. Her panties are already soaked right through.

He wiggles his eyebrows seductively. “’Tis the season, Detective.”

* * *

He was never one for board games and found them quite tedious, preferring to spend his time indulging in fine whiskey and women.

Instead of those fixes, he now focuses on putting forth a lot of effort into ensuring the space is comfortable for his favourite girls when it is Monopoly night. That entails soft cushions on the floor, available blankets if they happen to get a chill, and plentiful snacks like popcorn – the urchin loves popcorn and literally coats it with a seasoning called “dill pickle” that smells revolting – and of course chocolate-dipped strawberries. The Detective is a rosé kind of woman, so he always has the best wine ready. He never did have that alcoholic beverage stocked in his bar, but that too has changed. Not that he minded, especially when he and the Detective have nights to themselves. In the past he would spend his evenings at LUX, flirting with the beautiful ladies and shamelessly using his devilish charm on them. His nights are now spent on the penthouse balcony with a glass of wine, a roaring fire, and one woman in his arms who is far more gorgeous than any star he ever breathed into existence.

When they play Monopoly he wants to be the top hat, because he’s _clearly_ a top hat and not some silly thimble (who comes up with these tokens anyways?), and sometimes the child will hand him said piece. But she can also be quite the negotiator. While her deals aren’t always outlandish, they are clever. He suspects she gets her intelligence from her mother. When the game is finished, after a handful of rounds have been played, he eagerly inquires about the next Monopoly night.

* * *

Movies were not his thing. Too nonsensical, he always said, and he could think of far better ways to spend his time – like watching two girls (or guys, he wasn’t picky) make out before wanting to join in on the fun.

When it is movie night, which is usually Friday or Saturday depending on their work, he tosses some pillows and blankets onto the couch and orders in burgers and fries because it’s kind of their thing now. The trio watch the film while munching on their dinner, and every so often he steals a fry from the Detective or urchin when he thinks they aren’t looking. After all, food always seems to taste better when you snag it from someone else.

His constant interrupting during the movie - because he _has_ to point out everything he thinks is wrong - reaches the point where the Detective presses the 'pause' button every two minutes. She and her offspring look at him, he gives them puppy dog eyes, says he's sorry, sulks (except that he looks insanely adorable when he does this so they can't really get annoyed at him), then the entire process repeats.

The Detective knows she must take drastic action. She also knows she doesn't have to say a single word, so she simply looks at him for a moment before glancing down at his pelvic region. Her eyes then flicker back up to his. 

He gets the message, though he can't quite tell if she's teasing. So to be on the safe side he promptly shuts his mouth and doesn't speak for the remainder of the movie. He misses the wink the Detective shares with her offspring. 

* * *

Hugs used to confuse him. He never knew how to react when someone went to give him one, and quite often he’d freeze or recoil.

Now, after their bellies are full and they feel as if the meal almost killed them, he wraps his powerful arms around his favourite girls and pulls them in close. As they watch the movie, and he's finally quiet, he muses over how they curl into his side. It’s now one of his favourite pieces of furniture in the penthouse (aside from the bed, of course) because of this very reason. He intertwines his fingers with the Detective’s, she kisses his knuckles, and he reciprocates by pressing his lips to her forehead. She has her arm lying across his stomach, her head over his heart. The urchin, meanwhile, begins to nod off. Her eyelids grow heavy, and he doesn't mind that she's got him trapped in a half-hug. She grabs a fistful of his shirt, clearly trusting him as she is in a vulnerable position with her eyes closed, and he thinks it is pretty amazing that she feels safe enough in his presence to fall asleep.

* * *

He wasn’t a huge fan of touch either, which he had found odd considering he always seemed to have his hands on his many lovers. Touching and being touched are vastly different, and he eventually realized he had an aversion to the latter. He also learned it was because it made him feel vulnerable, and he liked to be in control. If there were any surprises along the way, he felt he would be more prepared to react.

In his long life he has been with countless males and females, but none quite have a touch like the Detective. It’s an unspoken agreement between them now: whenever they are lying on the couch or in bed (or even in the car), some part of their bodies have to be against each other and she doesn’t care if it’s their toes. His touch ignites her skin with a fire she thought had long been extinguished, and when her delicate fingertips dance along the taut skin of his stomach he shivers. Not because he is cold, but from the electricity of her touch. 

Her hands are small and slender, his are large and sturdy. Yet it always amazes them how when they do hold hands, they fit perfectly together as if purposely moulded by some ancient force.

He awakens before her in the morning with her face is buried in his chest, the small puffs of air escaping from her nostrils tickling his skin. Very carefully as to not disturb her, he lightly traces over the freckle located underneath her right eye. She says she’s always had it and used to conceal it with make-up, he tells her he loves it because it’s a part of her and he loves everything about her. He also loves when she curves her body alongside his so that her back is pressed against him, and in both instances his arms are wrapped securely around her and he sticks his nose in her golden hair so he can inhale her unique scent. When she does wakes up he gives her some time to regain her senses, but they’ve both started somewhat of a tradition now in the morning that entails no clothes.

It’s the vulnerability issue all over again, only this time he is more than happy to give her control. She hovers over him like the Goddess she is, straddling his waist as he places his hands on her hips. He teases her by thrusting his own hips up ever so slightly. She begins her exploration, starting at the base of his neck where she nibbles lightly at the skin. This elicits a hiss from him and she grins slyly, pleased with herself as she can see the teeth marks on his skin. 

He swallows, and she traces over his freckles and muscles with her fingertips as if re-creating her mental map. No one has ever touched him the way she does, although no one had ever really asked him what he liked.

But she had, and now she knows exactly what drives him insane.

Within seconds he is literally squirming underneath her, itching to touch her fiery skin. She gazes down at him through hooded lids, reaches down to her sides, grabs both his hands, and lifts them up to her breasts. His fingernails dig into her skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. He had done this to past lovers, but they are now a distant memory because she is his and his alone. Whether it's a gentle bite from their teeth or indentations from their nails, they often mark each other. 

"Getting marked by the Devil," she wonders out loud. "Now there's a sentence you don't hear everyday." 

A mischievous glint appears in his dark eyes. "Darling, don't you know I can do so much more to you than simply mark?" 

She smiles again and rolls her hips, causing him to moan at the friction. "Then what are you waiting for? Show me."

With lightning speed he flips them over so she is on her back. He uses his knee to gently push her legs apart, then easily enters her. "It'll be my pleasure." 

They have been starved from experiencing true touch for uncharted years, and now they are quenching their thirst.

* * *

He had kissed many a human and demon in his lifetime. In a single night he would often lose track of just how many mouths - and other body parts - he had planted his lips on. 

Her lips are probably his favourite part of her to kiss. They are full, incredibly soft, and when she bites her lower lip he swears she'll be the death of him. He doesn't have a particular preference on when he kisses her though, because every single time is just as amazing as the last. His weapon is his smile, hers are those luscious lips - and she knows how to use them against him. She tastes like lemon squares, coffee, and home.

In her high school and college days she had experimented with both guys and girls. While she didn't regret anything, it was nothing mind-blowing. 

All those people are now but a foggy haze in her memory. The first time she kisses him, when they are on the beach, she immediately questions why she waits so bloody long. It is not a passionate kiss by any means, but she realizes she has been missing out. When it comes to this kind of art, he is far more knowledgeable than her. Sometimes he adds in his long tongue - which she is fully aware can do way more than just French kiss - and he knows this makes her weak. Tongue or not, his taste is intoxicating. It's a mixture of whiskey, smoke, pride, and something else she can't quite place. But she does know this: she can kiss him an infinite number of times and not once grow weary of his taste. 

They leap at every opportunity to kiss each other, even at work where it's no secret that they are dating. Usually it's a quick peck on the cheek, but every now and then they'll go for the lips. Luckily their superiors are fine with it, so long as they don't have a make-out session in the middle of the precinct. 

He forgets what other humans taste like, and he wouldn't have it any other way. 

* * *

At one time, he swore he’d never let anyone drive his Corvette. There was that one instance he allowed the Detective to sit in the seat, but he always insisted on driving.

“Always” has now been thrown out the literal window as he often finds himself in the passenger seat. While he is still cautious, he can’t help but smile as he watches the Detective clearly enjoy herself. The day comes when he says she can take her offspring for a drive, which shocks even him considering, but he trusts the Detective. The urchin reminds him of his promise about offering her driving lessons when she is old enough.

He inwardly groans at this but he will honour it, because he is a Devil of his word.

* * *

He had never really been a sweets fan, though he had also never been backward at coming forward when it came to licking chocolate syrup off a gorgeous woman’s stomach or slurping whipped cream from a handsome guy's nipples.

Now chocolate syrup goes on on top of an small ice cream sundae, a special treat reserved for Sunday nights. After handing the bowl to the urchin he grabs the can of whipped cream, shakes it a little, then tips it upright and sprays some into his open mouth. The child thinks this is really cool and asks if her mother if she can have some. Normally she would have said no (at least most of the time), but his playful antics have changed her and she lets her offspring have a small squirt. She is more carefree now, giggles nonstop, and enjoys spontaneity (particularly when it comes to him surprising her with a weekend getaway to some high-end spa).

Once every other week, while driving to work, they stop at Starbuck’s and she waits in the car while he heads inside. He sticks with his normal order of boring coffee, but always remembers what she likes: a tall non-fat almond milk latte with sugar-free caramel drizzle. Sometimes he sneaks in a lemon square for good measure, because he knows those are one of her weaknesses (aside from himself, of course).

When she first started with the LAPD – and even while pregnant with her daughter – she was not particularly into sweets. She would indulge in the odd cookie or brownie, but those usually did nothing for her. For some bizarre reason, during her pregnancy she had the most insane craving for dill pickles and loved nothing more than munching on them throughout the day and night.

She still isn’t a big fan of sugar but sometimes the itch for a lemon square arises. When he surprises her with one she flashes the smile specifically for him and takes a bite of the treat, knowing he kind of has a thing for kissing her afterwards. He claims he loves the taste of the tart lemon lingering on his tongue, though she is fully aware he’s just finding another excuse to kiss her.

Sometimes she pretends she already had a lemon square, mumbling something about how there's a tray in the break room, just so she can taste him on her tongue. 

* * *

For the longest time a certain idea had never entered his mind. He used to laugh at the very notion of committing yourself to one person, as he rather liked the playboy lifestyle.

The key word being _liked_.

He takes his time looking. The salesman says to wait for a piece to speak to him, whatever that means, but eventually he finds it. The jewelry has to be resized so he waits a couple of weeks, which works for him because he still needs to plan another surprise or two. When the piece is ready he returns to the store to pick it up, carefully placing it in a small box which is then hidden inside one of his pockets.

He attempts to write out what he wants to say, but the words don’t come easily for him so he decides to take a chance and wait until the moment arises.

They walk along the sandy beach, barefoot and hand-in-hand, chatting about nothing in particular and listening to the gentle lapping of the waves at their feet. It is a gorgeous evening, and the sun starting its descent results in the sky bursting with brilliant colours. There is a very light breeze that tickles their skin, but neither take notice.

They stop to face the ocean, and as they stare out into the vastness he wraps his arms around her middle. Her temple rests against his jawline, and he kisses the corner of her eye. He is content to stand there with her for the rest of the night, but he is on a crucial mission.

“Chloe,” he breathes, already grabbing her attention as he uses her name. She half-turns in his embrace, and he gazes into her eyes. He inhales and exhales slowly, as if summoning his courage, then speaks again. “I never knew love and acceptance until I met you. You have completely changed my life, and for that I am eternally grateful. You, Chloe Decker, are my salvation. I want yours to be the last face I see at night and the first I see in the morning. You’re my beginning, my end, and everywhere in-between. What we have is incredible, and if you’ll let me I want to spend forever showing you just how much I love you.”

She is still absorbing his words when he bends down onto one knee. He temporarily releases her hands to reach into his pocket and fishes out the little box, holding it out in front of him in one hand and using the other to open it. He then seeks out her hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze as he looks up at her and speaks four words. “Will you marry me?”

The last syllable hasn’t even left his mouth and she says “yes”, and while he’s pretty sure she also adds in “absolutely” he isn’t quite sure because all he hears is that three-letter word. He slips the ring onto her finger and stands up, nearly losing his balance as she suddenly grabs him by the collar of his shirt and crashes her lips against his.

They are forced to break apart due to lack of oxygen, so she takes the moment of respite to observe the ring. It is not the plain silver band that catches her attention, but rather the shape in its middle. The small open star is highlighted with twenty tiny blue sapphires that gleam so much in the dwindling sunlight, it’s as if the actual stars have rained down from the eternal sky.

Her voice is hushed with wonder. “It’s so beautiful.”

He scoffs lightly at this. “Darling, you are far more gorgeous.”

She throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. When she leans back he keeps his hold on her and captures her lips in a kiss he pours all his love into. He doesn’t care if people are watching them, because _she_ is all that matters.

He abruptly pauses, immortal heart thrumming with joy, and she opens her eyes to look at him. As always, he is enthralled by her stunning blue-green irises. They remind him of the sea, and he will gladly drown in them. “I love you endlessly.”

She gives him that brilliant smile of hers, the one he often says that brings him to his knees – because Chloe Decker is the only human the Devil has ever worshipped. “And I you, Lucifer. Always.”

* * *

On the beach where they shared their first kiss they share another one, only this time they are surrounded by their friends and place rings on each other’s hands. His is a simple silver band, hers is the same except for the pattern of blue and silver jewels on the top of the band to match her engagement ring, which she is now wearing on her other hand.

She sports a red dress that shimmers brightly in the late afternoon sun. He repeats those three words, tells her how he is a better man because of her, thanks her for destroying his walls, uses her given name, and also adds “I’ve loved you since the beginning of everything.”

They seal their union with a kiss, too lost in each other’s taste to even hear the celebratory cheers around them. Their foreheads touch, the tips of their noses press together, and for a moment it is just them in the world.

“Do I still get to call you ‘Detective’?”

She chuckles and kisses him again. “Only if you add in ‘my Detective wife’.”

“Wife,” his already sparkling eyes light up even more. “I love the sound of that already.”

* * *

Nighttime has fallen over Los Angeles, and the city seems to almost awaken thanks to the many colours and clubs that adorn its streets. Lucifer doesn’t take notice of this as he lays on the couch, his wife in one arm and his step-daughter in the other. The lights from the tree trunk hanging upside-down from the ceiling catches his wedding ring at just the right angle, and the shiny metal glints.

He’s a married Devil now, and those are words he never thought he’d place in the same sentence. But change has seemed to be a bit of a recurring theme in his life, and he's more than okay with that. 

He kisses Chloe and Trixie on their heads, wondering what he has done to be so damn lucky to love and be loved by two incredible ladies. His eyelids begin to droop, and he snuggles deeper into his family’s embrace. He swears he sees the tiniest indication of a smile pass over their lips.

Years ago, he used to panic at the very idea of change. The mere mention of the word “family” used to send him either into a rage or bolting off in terror. He was frightened of settling down, of being vulnerable, and being part of a family.

As he closes his eyes and a sense of calmness washes over him, one particular word lingers in his mind before disappearing into oblivion.

 _Was_.

As in, past tense.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated. Stay safe ❤️


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